


Off to the Waves (they roll)

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Drowning, Explicit Sexual Content, Fishy business, Gratuitous misuse of Pippo, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Merfolk tropes, Monto has issues, Murder (Implied), Pazzolivo being canon in every universe, Stockholm Syndrome, Teenage merman Monto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merfolk AU. Mermaids are nothing but a legend, a fairytale, while humans are just weak little creatures capable of destroying all life under the sea. All it takes is a bit of curiosity, unfounded entitlement, and childish thoughtlessness to make these two worlds collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in which the legend turns reality

**Author's Note:**

> Because what would be a better way to celebrate the World Cup than— a fic about people _not_ in the World Cup? Maybe I should just say I’m experiencing an abundance of Pippo feels and I had to get them out somehow, huh?
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, so I feel like I need to explain myself here…
> 
> I’ve been going through this minor (okay, maybe not so minor) obsession over the Pippo/Monto pairing for quite some time now, simply because they’re possibly my two favourite players ever (or at least in the top five), and now it’s been confirmed that Pippo will coach Milan (and Monto) next season. Understandable reasoning, if you ask me: they’re hot and special, and I want them to be hot and special _together_.
> 
> My roommate in turn has been trying to convince me that it’s a ship so full of holes that they’d be in the bottom of the ocean the moment they attempted to sail it. (Tbh, it’s not even a ship, more like a handmade raft. Or maybe a lifeboat. Without oars.) 
> 
> Anyways, one thing led to another, and in the end an innocent chat over breakfast about H. C. Andersen’s _Little Mermaid_ (which I happen to dislike quite a bit, along with its Disney counterpart, but that’s another discussion I don’t wish to pursue here) transformed into a plot bunny that actually had them _in the bottom of the sea_. And then it didn’t leave me alone before I actually wrote it.
> 
> Effectively this story follows the lines of “how Milla thinks Little Mermaid should’ve gone”, although actually the plots are so vastly different that you can barely spot the connection.
> 
> The title comes from Disney’s Little Mermaid song _Under the Sea_.  
>   
> 
> [Introduction: About the Merfolk](http://leapangstily.livejournal.com/22442.html)

Pippo grew up hearing stories of the sea.   
  
It is the clearest memory he has of his childhood: him and Simone sitting side by side next to the fireplace, listening closely as their grandfather – an old sailor – reiterated stories from his days at the sea while their mother cooked dinner for the whole family.  
  
It was somewhere between those tales of ferocious killer whales, playful dolphins, and lethally beautiful mermaids that Pippo fell in love with the sea. Him and Simone both, although later Simone has insisted he was too young to actually remember any of the stories.  
  
When he first tried on diving gear, he was hoping to see a mermaid – the alluring but dangerous magical being that would sing happily at the sinking ships in the middle of the storm and then drag the drowning sailors into the depths of the ocean.  
  
He did not see a mermaid, but he did see a swarm of small fish swimming away from him. As he grew up and moved to the deeper waters, he saw coral reefs, bigger fish, colourful fish, even dolphins and porpoises. Once he even saw a small shark.  
  
As he matured, finished his degree in accounting and found a well-paying job – much to his mother’s delight – he finally had to give up on his search for the mermaids. He had to accept that merfolk indeed were nothing more than a thing from a fairytale, a silly legend carried on by the senile old sailors like his grandfather.  
  
He may have given up on the mermaids, but he never gave up on the sea. The sea that was his first love – his only love – something he yearned for every minute spent in his stuffy cubicle at the company in central Milan, far away from the salty waters of his beloved Mediterranean.  
  
  
  
 _”Cute little things, aren’t they?” Riccardo whispers to Giampaolo as they hide in the dark caves, deep enough that the humans could never reach them with those silly little masks and gadgets they have built for themselves, “So determined to discover places so out of their depth.”_  
  
 _Giampaolo takes a look at his friend, his raised eyebrow just visible in the dark waters, “I wouldn’t say cute. Idiotic maybe. Suicidal.”_  
  
 _Riccardo laughs at him unworriedly and kicks his tail to move just a bit closer to the mouth of their hiding place, to get a better look of the wider cave bathing in blue light, of the inelegant small creatures with their fake-skins made to imitate that of whales or dolphins._  
  
 _“Don’t get too close: you remember what Cesare said about being seen,” Giampaolo warns him unnecessarily and Riccardo lets out a disappointed huff, but shoots back to his friend’s side nonetheless._  
  
 _“You’re no fun,” he flicks his tail, rounding around Giampaolo’s frame before wrapping their tails together, his arms wound securely around his waist, “You afraid I’m gonna forget you if I get one of those?”_  
  
 _“They’re not pets, Ricky,” Giampaolo replies, ignoring the actual question because the mere thought is absurd, “They’re monsters. Remember what they tried to do to Stephan when they caught him?”_  
  
 _“To be fair, we did sink their boat in return,” Riccardo reminds him amusedly, nuzzling his neck affectionately as Giampaolo takes a firmer hold on him and kicks them in motion, swimming through the pitch black caves until they reach open waters, far away from the humans exploring their domain._  
  
 _“You’re missing my point again, Ricky.”_  
  
 _“Whatever you say, Giampi,” Riccardo has slipped his hands down from his waist – blindly trusting Giampaolo’s arms around him even as they keep floating along the strong currents – cupping his growing member between their bodies, effectively bringing the discussion to an end._  
  
  
  
“The sun’s setting soon, maybe we should head back?” Simone suggests as they climb back to the boat anchored at the mouth of an underwater cave complex.  
  
They have been at it the whole day, diving through the caves, exploring the dark waters and the sea life lurking in the shadows. In their last dive they actually spotted a large octopus hiding from the daylight.  
  
Pippo checks his oxygen tank, hoping for one last dive before heading back to the shore – this is his last chance before he is needed back in Milan, after all – “I’ve still got some oxygen left. I’ll take one more quick dip while you prepare the boat, okay?”  
  
“Fine, just don’t go far,” Simone is rolling his eyes but from his tone Pippo can tell he is not surprised one bit. It is how they have been since childhood: Simone the practical one, while Pippo just wants to be in the water, to take every chance to discover more secrets in the depths.  
  
He closes the zipper of his wetsuit and fixes his mask and mouthpiece back on his face, collecting his torch before jumping into the water again. There was that one small cave close-by he did not get a chance to explore earlier…  
  
Pippo has just lit his torch, entering the cave complex determined to find the cave they had passed earlier today, when he can feel something brushing against his side. Something big. Something fast.  
  
He tries to stop and turn around on the spot, but by the time he directs the light towards the direction the contact had come from, there is nothing to see.  
  
A fish? Or maybe a dolphin lost from its pod? Surely not a shark?  
  
There is movement in the corner of his eye, just beyond the torch light’s reach, a large creature flashing by him and into another cave. Pippo follows, albeit not nearly as quickly, the swimfins only doing that much for his swimming speed.  
  
He recognizes the cave as soon as he enters: it is one of the larger ones, one that bathes in the blue light during the day, accommodating different kinds of fish and other sea life, attracting lots of amateur divers to take a look. Now the light is gone, though, along with the setting sun. Even the swarms of fish are gone.  
  
He swims further in, turning around and pointing his torch in all directions, trying to locate the creature he was following.   
  
He is about to give up his search and head back to the boat when he sees it: at first he thinks it is a smallish dolphin swimming through another passageway, but the movements are nothing like dolphin’s – the creature twists in almost impossible angles, reminding him more of a snake despite the fish-like shape.  
  
It only lasts a second, and then the creature is out of his sight again before he can get a proper look. Pippo knows he should be heading back soon, play it safe with his remaining oxygen, but he absolutely has to know what this animal is.  
  
So he swims after the intriguing creature, into another small cave, completely hidden from view unless you know what you are looking for.  
  
It is darker here, almost pitch black, and again Pippo considers turning back, maybe calling his boss for another couple days off so he can come back tomorrow to explore this new discovery. He could make up a credible excuse, he is certain of it.  
  
There is another brush against his side, but this time it does not disappear; instead, he feels something sliding against his legs, rounding around his body until he comes face to face with—   
  
A boy?  
  
All Pippo’s mind registers at first are the wide pale eyes and flowing dark hair floating in the underwater currents. Then the smile, a mischievous smile full of childlike joy and curiosity.   
  
He must be hallucinating, because the boy has no diving gear, not even a mask or a wetsuit. Pippo idly wonders if there is something wrong with his oxygen tank – maybe the lack of air is messing with his head – but cannot make a move to check, too stuck on the eerie eyes in front of him.  
  
Then the boy kicks himself in motion and Pippo’s hold on his torch falters due to the shock, because where he was expecting legs is a fish tail, looking silvery in the pale light of the torch, every motion fluid and elegant, no movement out of place.  
  
He is definitely hallucinating, or maybe dreaming, because there is no way he is seeing a live mermaid – merman, his brain corrects automatically – in this forgotten little cave in a diving tourist’s dream location.  
  
He looses his hold on the torch when the creature swims closer again, his head spinning, and yes, now the lack of oxygen is definitely kicking in as well. The light goes out somewhere beneath him and everything goes black, the merman out of sight even though Pippo can feel the tail brushing against him again.  
  
He needs to get away, needs to swim to the surface before he loses consciousness. He promised Simone he would not be down for long. His brother is waiting for him to come back.  
  
Pippo kicks the water, trying to make his way towards the bluish light still shining from the previous cave. There must be an air pocket out there, and he needs to find it, fast.  
  
His path is blocked by the creature, only the dark silhouette visible against the dim light, and Pippo again remembers the stories his grandfather used to tell him.  
  
 _”Merfolk may be pretty, Pippo my boy, but they’re also malevolent creatures, always looking for a chance drag you down into the deeps. Never let them trick you into believing otherwise.”_  
  
He can feel hands on the back of his neck, right where the wetsuit collar exposes his skin, caressing him almost affectionately. The strong tail is wrapped around his legs, stopping him from moving.  
  
And then there is nothing, as his brain shuts down and he slips out of consciousness, his late grandfather’s words ringing in his ears: _”Be careful what you wish for, boy, for one day they might come after you.”_  
  
  
  
 _”This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done,” Giampaolo berates Riccardo exasperatedly as he emerges from the water in Riccardo’s secret hideaway – their secret hideaway, to be exact – taking in a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of air after days spent underwater._  
  
 _Riccardo ignores him, too focused on the human lying on the rocky ground: unconscious but at least he is breathing again, the diving equipment discarded next to him._  
  
 _“It’s almost pretty like this, don’t you think?” Riccardo muses aloud with an affectionate smile, stroking the black hair, damp and tangled, completely different from the merfolk whose hair stays undamaged in the sea water._  
  
 _“This is madness. You’re being worse than Mario!” Giampaolo closes the distance between them, swims to the ledge where Riccardo is sitting with his tail still dangling in the water, “It’s not too late yet; you should just take him back to shore before somebody finds out.”_  
  
 _“I think it’s a male, don’t you?” Riccardo continues as if he did not hear Giampaolo, his eyes running over the prone form – nicely formed arms, skinny upper body, and then those ugly stumps in the place where the tail should be – before returning to the face – dark eyelashes, thin lips, light brown skin – “They’re not supposed to look that different from us, right?”_  
  
 _“Ricky, it’s against the law! We’re not allowed to make any contact with humans, remember?” Giampaolo grabs Riccardo’s arm and tugs on it until his friend has to turn to look at him, “Let’s just take him back and no one gets hurt, huh?”_  
  
 _“No, he’s mine! I found him!” Riccardo shakes off Giampaolo hold on his arm stubbornly, staring at him resolutely until Giampaolo has no other choice but to give up for now. Riccardo can be so childish sometimes, surely a result of having been chief’s favourite ever since they were kids._  
  
 _“I’m telling Cesare, though,” he threatens with a roll of his eyes._  
  
 _Usually the name of the chief is enough to make Riccardo return to his senses – the only thing that makes him easier to handle than Mario, really – but this time Riccardo just pouts and turns his back to Giampaolo, his hands caressing the human’s chest now._  
  
 _“Yeah, definitely a male,” he hums absent-mindedly as he maps the flat chest under the black fake-skin, before moving to study the stumps – legs, Cesare had once taught them – curiously, “Think he can speak? Humans talk, don’t they?”_  
  
 _“No they don’t. Not like us,” Giampaolo reminds him of the lessons they had to take ages ago – lessons Riccardo has obviously forgotten completely since then, because otherwise he would realize how idiotic his actions are._  
  
 _“Maybe he can learn,” Riccardo smiles, running his fingers over the motionless lips, “My little human pup.”_  
  
 _Giampaolo does not bother telling him that the human with them is hardly a pup – probably years older than both of them, at least based on the physical appearance – instead, he dives and leaves with an overly loud splash of his tail, making sure Riccardo knows he does not agree with this venture, not at all._  
  
 _Now, if only he could figure out how to tell this to Cesare without getting them both in trouble…_  
  
  
  
Pippo wakes up with a pounding headache, his every muscle aching from lying on the ground. For a while he cannot see a thing, the only source of light high above his head.  
  
Where is he? What happened to him?   
  
He can smell the sea, can even hear the soft sounds of water hitting against rocks. It is a cave, it must be, one high enough to have rocks above the water. And the dim light from above must come from the night sky, a hole between the rocks letting in just an inkling of starlight.  
  
He remembers the cave complex, the dark waters surrounding him. He was supposed to have enough oxygen for around twenty minutes more, easily, so why cannot he remember getting out of the water? How did he end up here?  
  
Then he remembers the creature, the boy, the  _merman_.  
  
Pippo sits up quickly, his headache intensifying because of the sudden movement, looking around feverishly even though his eyes have yet to adjust to the darkness.  
  
He can sense he is not alone even before he hears a humming, bubbly sound from behind him. He turns to face the voice, instinctively moving backwards, trying to get as far away from its invisible source as possible.  
  
It takes ages for his eyes to start working properly in the darkness, but finally he can make out a form a couple metres away from him – a human-like creature leaning his elbows against the rocky ledge, jaw rested on his palms, his bottom-half hidden in the water, pale blue eyes shining eerily even in the inadequate lighting.  
  
“Who are you?” Pippo asks quietly, the features of the boy becoming clearer as his vision sharpens, and then he corrects himself, “ _What_  are you?”  
  
There is no response, just another stream of sounds that reminds Pippo of singing, with steep changes in the vocal range, from low humming to high squeaks. The boy tilts his head, and it registers in Pippo’s mind that he ( _it?_ ) is smiling at him, a row of white teeth flashing between his lips.  
  
He looks around, trying to find a place to run, but all he can see is rocky walls and water, water everywhere, not even a passageway out of the cave – probably hidden underwater, his brain supplies for him.  
  
The merman pushes himself off the ledge, slipping into the water almost without a sound, swimming around the rocks to come face to face with Pippo, although obviously being careful to keep his distance as well.  
  
“I don’t know what your intentions are with me,” Pippo tries talking again as he moves farther away from the edge of water, although he is fairly sure the creature does not understand him, “But there’s gonna be people looking for me. They’re gonna find me and then you’ll be captured too.”  
  
Pippo considers attacking and forcing his way out, but he knows he would be in the losing end as long as the creature stays in water. He remembers the painful pressure around his legs when the tail was wrapped around them – this creature is strong, no matter how innocent he might look.  
  
He also has no idea how to get out of the cave without his diving gear, so for now the best plan is probably to wait and see what the merman does, and then act accordingly.  
  
Pippo presses his back against the rocky wall, pulling his legs up against his chest, making sure to create as much space between him and the water as possible. Better safe than sorry – at least he hopes that staying on dry land will keep him away from the merman’s reach.  
  
The creature looks at him curiously, studying his every movement, his eyes fixated on Pippo’s legs for far longer than necessary. For a second Pippo wonders if this is how the dolphins in the SeaWorld feel every day.  
  
After a while the creature lifts his hands to the stony floor and hauls himself up, sitting on the ledge, and now Pippo can almost make out the point at his hip where pale skin turns into the silvery tail.  
  
The merman reaches his hand towards Pippo – there are thin, almost transparent webs between his fingers, stretching from the second knuckle of one finger to the next – and Pippo kicks the hand on instinct right before it touches his bare foot, “Don’t touch me!”  
  
The merman lets out a surprised hiss, looking at Pippo with an expression that could almost be insulted, and then he opens his mouth to let out another rush of unintelligible sounds, much sharper than the earlier ones.  
  
Pippo almost laughs when he can see the merman puckering his lips in an obvious  _pout_ , because suddenly he realizes he is dealing with a child, even if his physical appearance might be that of an adult, “Don’t you pout at me, I’m not the one holding you here against your will.”  
  
The merman has raised his hurt hand against his lips, like trying to blow away the pain, shooting angry glances at Pippo every few seconds.  
  
Then he slides into the water and disappears into the dark waves with one last flick of his tail – and suddenly Pippo is all alone, with no idea how he is supposed to get out of the nature’s own prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The merfolk age differently from humans: because of the dangerous surroundings, they are much more developed from the birth, capable of swimming on their own, and they develop faster to their full grown form (though still slower than other marine mammals). However, because emotional and intellectual growth is connected to life experience, they still take almost as long as humans to actually become _grown-ups_.  
>  \- Pippo is around his late 30s here. Riccardo and Giampaolo are physically in their mid-20s (converted to human years), while on the emotional/intellectual level they’re probably closer to late teens. Giampaolo is a bit older, although that doesn’t really explain the differences between the two – Riccardo just happens to be spoiled rotten and too curious for his own good, while Giampaolo has grown up while trying to keep him out of trouble.  
> \- Pippo and Simone were diving in Southern Italy, probably somewhere around the [Palinuro coast](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palinuro), although that’s not really important for the plot.  
> \- I don’t know anything about diving; I haven’t tried it even once! Apologies if this isn’t even close to how things work!


	2. in which the reality catches up

Pippo does not sleep an eyeful that night – how could he, imprisoned in the dark cave with no way out, nothing but his wetsuit on him?  
  
He wonders idly what the merman has done with his diving gear, but dismisses the thought soon enough, the idea of his brand new equipment in the bottom of the sea too depressing. Of course his capturer would not leave him anything to help him escape.  
  
Sun rises outside, its light seeping into the cave through the cracks between the rocks high above him, allowing Pippo to study his prison properly for the first time.  
  
The cave is actually quite large, albeit most of it is covered with clear water. Pippo can actually see the underwater passageway, a dark hole in the rocky wall maybe a couple meters beneath the surface, almost straight across from the rocks he is sitting on.  
  
‘Rocks’ might be a wrong word for the cliff he spent his night on, though: the stony surface almost resembles a platform, a flat clearing connected to the cave walls, clearly above the water level. It actually looks manmade – an underwater hiding place for who knows what.  
  
The idea eases Pippo’s mind momentarily: if people had built this place, it must mean there is a way out as well. Maybe the tunnel is not that long; maybe he could swim through it and get out even without his gear. He used to be able to hold his breath for almost four minutes back when he was training freediving…  
  
Then again, what if the cave is part of the merfolk’s lair? That would make much more sense, and it would also mean that the tunnel might stretch for hundreds of meters – maybe even thousands – without a breathing space. Pippo is not quite ready to take that risk without trying out his other options first.  
  
He walks along the walls, running his hands on the slippery stone, searching for weak spots without any luck. He even steps into the water – surprisingly it is shallow enough for him to walk next to the cliff – studying the rocks around the platform before moving to the deeper waters, swimming around the cave in the hopes of noticing something he might have missed.  
  
Once he is back on land, he tries shouting. He cannot be that far away from the place the merman caught him; there must be several divers close-by, maybe even looking for him. If he could just make himself heard—  
  
Nothing, not even after yelling his voice hoarse – there are no divers, there is not even sea life in the water around him. He is completely alone.  
  
For a second Pippo wishes the merman would come back. Then at least he would have some company, something to take his mind off his terrible situation.  
  
The pounding in his head is not going away, a painful reminder of his earlier almost-drowning experience. His stomach is growling too: it has been at least twelve hours since he last ate anything, and his body is adamantly protesting his every movement as he keeps looking for a crack, a hole, anything that could lead him out of here.  
  
Finally he has to give up and sit down, his legs pulled up against his chest. He waits, hoping the feeling of hunger clenching his insides would pass like it normally does if he ignores it long enough. Then maybe he could try shouting again, because there has to be someone out there.  
  
He thinks mournfully about the unopened packet of Plasmon biscuits he left on the boat. He is so hungry.  
  
“Please, come back,” he whispers into the waters, hugging his legs even tighter against his chest.  
  
Maybe the merman would take pity on him. He did not seem cruel, not even malicious when he tried to approach Pippo last night – more like curious, full of almost childlike wonder.  
  
Pippo groans aloud and presses his face against his knees. His grandfather had warned him about this. He had told him  _not_  to let them fool him.  
  
Fuck, he is hungry.  
  
  
  
 _Cesare is pinching the bridge of his nose, not saying a word, and Riccardo knows it cannot be a good sign. He also knows it would not be smart to be the one to start the conversation, not without first finding out what Cesare knows, exactly.  
  
Giampaolo could not have told him yet, could he? He would not do that to Riccardo.  
  
“Are you out of your mind, Riccardo?” Cesare’s words are slow, carefully considered, overly calm – a sure sign that he is actually furious – and now Riccardo knows for sure that Cesare knows. There cannot be any other reason.  
  
“I didn’t think—”  
  
“No, you didn’t! You. Never. Think!” Cesare is not actually yelling, but his each word hits Riccardo harder than any physical blow ever could, “It’s the one thing you’ve been taught since you were old enough to understand. We do not associate with humans. Which part of that is so hard for you to understand?”  
  
Riccardo does not know what to say. He knows it was wrong, he knows he was not supposed to do what he did. But it is too late now: he cannot take the human back anymore.  **His**  human.  
  
“He’s seen me already. It’s not safe to let him go now,” he states simply, unable to meet Cesare’s searching gaze. It is the one thing he has never been able handle – the disappointment in the chief’s eyes – no matter how many times he is subjected to it.  
  
“No, it’s not,” Cesare sighs in resignation, shaking his head sadly, “But you need to get rid of him. Humans are dangerous; you can’t trust them, Riccardo. You can’t have them as pets like one of your porpoises.”  
  
Now Riccardo’s head snaps up, his eyes finally meeting Cesare’s as he retorts quickly, “I’m not killing him! Never! He wouldn’t hurt me!”  
  
He clutches his hands behind his back instinctively, forcing the memory of his human kicking him from his mind. He was just scared; it was Riccardo’s fault for getting too close, too fast.  
  
“That’s not the point,” Cesare deadpans, levelling a resolute gaze at Riccardo, “It’s the law: no human contacts. We can’t risk being found, you know that. Just tell me where he is and we’ll take care of the rest.”  
  
“No!” Riccardo protests immediately, swimming a quick circle around Cesare when his distress grows too much for him to stay still any longer, “He’s mine! You can’t kill him!”  
  
Cesare’s eyes reflect immense sadness – Riccardo knows the chief has a soft spot for him, has taken an advantage of it more than once – but he is not budging this time, and Riccardo is not expecting him to, not really, “He’s not yours. You can’t own a human.”  
  
“Watch me!” Riccardo hisses, turning on the spot and swimming away, not sparing another glance to the chief. He will not give his human to them. He will keep him safe, nurture him, show everyone there is no danger.  
  
Giampaolo swims up to him the moment they are out of Cesare’s sight – the chief makes no attempt to follow, probably hoping for Riccardo to come around on his own – taking a hold of his arm and halting his movement, “Ricky, stop! You’re being unreasonable!”  
  
“You told him!” Riccardo accuses furiously, immediately turning his bottled anger towards his friend, “You knew what he was gonna do. And you still told him!”  
  
“What else was I supposed to do?” Giampaolo asks exasperatedly, keeping a fast hold on Riccardo’s arm even when the younger merman tries to pull away, “You’re being impossible! You can’t keep that human – it’s insanity!”  
  
“He’s not hurting anyone in there,” Riccardo argues vehemently, his eyes sparking with rage, “ **I’m**_   _not hurting anyone. Just leave me be!”  
  
Giampaolo lets go of Riccardo, but follows him when he attempts to swim away, “And what if he hurts you? What am I supposed to do then, huh?”  
  
“He won’t,” Riccardo answers after a long consideration. He is doing his best to calm down, because he knows he needs to have Giampaolo on his side, knows Giampaolo is on his side even now, no matter how impossible it seems, “I’ll just— Please, just give me some time. I’ll figure something out.”  
  
He is swimming slower now, half-turned towards Giampaolo, and he reaches out his hand to caress his cheek gently, “I’ll be fine. Just don’t tell them where we are.”  
  
Giampaolo leans into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment, like considering his options, before finally making up his mind, “You sure you can handle it? They’ll be looking everywhere for you.”  
  
“They never found us before,” Riccardo smiles wistfully and presses a languid kiss on Giampaolo’s lips, “And I’m fast, I can out-swim Cesare’s watchdogs.”  
  
“Be careful,” Giampaolo whispers against his lips and then pulls him into another kiss, before Riccardo pulls away and swims off, taking a slight detour on purpose in case Cesare has already sent someone after him._  
  
  
  
Pippo is just starting to nod off when the water surface breaks and the merman emerges with a barely audible splash.  
  
Pippo straightens up against the cave wall immediately, shaking off the persistent exhaustion and meeting the creature’s eyes challengingly. He still has no idea what the merman wants from him, and he is not about to show how scared he is, even if the fear at the back of his mind is not letting up.  
  
The merman does not look even nearly as menacing in daylight as he appeared during the night or underwater: his skin is pale, almost sickly looking, and Pippo could swear there is a bluish hue to it, although that might be due to the shadows in the cave.  
  
His eyes are still striking, though: wide, icy blue, surrounded by dark lashes that in the contrast to his pale skin look even more surreal. The dark brown hair is curly, and Pippo could never tell he just rose from the sea, only a few water droplets sticking to the strands.  
  
The merman swims over to the cliff, and Pippo notices he is carrying something only when he sets a lapful of something dark and slimy on the rocks.  
  
“What’s that?” Pippo asks flatly, not even expecting an answer anymore, just speaking to break the silence.  
  
The creature looks at him, opens his mouth and lets out a long string of humming sounds, tied so closely together that Pippo cannot recognize any patterns. He is fairly sure it is some kind of a language – it is too intricate to be just random noises, but on the other hand it is too complicated for Pippo to make any sense of it.  
  
The merman hauls himself up from the water, sitting on the edge of the rocky platform and sorting through the soggy mess in front of him. His tail is flicking against the water surface, creating small waves that hit the walls of the cave, soaking the dark rocks. Pippo suspects he does not even realize he is doing it.  
  
There is a flash of something white – a blade of some kind, maybe a dagger – and Pippo backs up immediately, creating as much distance between him and the creature as possible.  
  
The merman does not even spare him a glance as he focuses on cutting something he picked up from the pile of what appears to be some type of seaweed. A fish? At least it looks like a seabass from what Pippo can tell. He can also make out shapes of clams between the dark weeds.  
  
Just at that moment, Pippo’s stomach lets out a loud growl that he tries to suppress by pulling his legs closer to himself, but the merman looks up at him nonetheless, blinking his eyes in surprise a couple of times before his lips quirk into an amused smile.  
  
He says something – a low humming sound that sounds almost like a purr to Pippo’s ears – and gestures at him and then at the seafood on the ground. Come closer, eat something.  
  
Pippo stays put, biting his lips together in silent protest. pointedly turning his face to other direction. How can he be sure that whatever this creature tries to feed him is edible – as far as he knows, he could be trying to poison Pippo.  
  
The merman says something else, more high-pitched now, but falls silent after that. When Pippo peeks at his direction after a while, he has turned his back to Pippo, staring at the water morosely, apparently nibbling on something.  
  
For a second Pippo feels almost bad for upsetting him, but then he quickly reminds himself that he is the prisoner here, and he has no reason to be nice to his capturer. Hell, he should be fighting, trying to force the merman to take him back to land.  
  
The white blade is lying by the finely cut pieces of fish. Pippo does not recognize the material it is made of, but it looks light, and is obviously sharp based on the neat cuts. Pippo is no expert, but to him those fish pieces would not look out of place even in a sushi restaurant.  
  
He considers his options quickly. This is his chance, the merman out of water and unarmed as far as he can tell. On the other hand, if he fails, the merman might really decide to kill him, which despite his current pinch is the last thing Pippo wants  
  
But the merman has not shown any indication of wanting to kill him until now – except for their initial encounter underwater, of course – so maybe scaring him would be enough to make him give up on whatever he is trying to do, force him to let Pippo go.  
  
What else can he do? Trying to swim through the tunnel would be just as risky, maybe even more so. And if he stays here, even if he agreed to eat the offered food, he is going to die from thirst sooner or later. Probably sooner, with all the salt that he would be consuming along with the food soaked in seawater.  
  
Pippo inches closer, keeping his eyes fixed on the merman, making sure he does not realize what is going on. He reaches the pile of seaweed – his mouth waters at the mere thought of eating the fish laid out on the rocks, but he suppresses the urge – and is about to take the knife when the merman turns around, surprised blue eyes meeting Pippo’s.  
  
Pippo was planning to take things slow, wait until the best possible moment, but being met with the immediate realization in his capturer’s eyes, he panics.  
  
He grabs the knife quickly and tackles the merman to the ground, one knee pressed against his chest, all his weight pressing against the breastbone (or where it should be, at least), the white blade hovering right over the pale skin of the merman’s neck.  
  
“Let me out of here,” he tells the creature in a low voice, trying to make his message clear through his tone and expression, “Let me out or I swear I’ll kill you.”  
  
The merman is staring at Pippo with wide eyes, his lips parted, and Pippo can see a bit of seaweed stuck on his front teeth – so that is what he was eating earlier. His lower lip is quivering just slightly as he takes in a shaky breath, the instinctive movement of his throat making the blade press momentary against the skin. Not enough to cut it.  
  
It strikes Pippo how scared the merman looks – young and small and helpless, nothing like the bloodthirsty monster his grandfather used to describe to him – his hands resting by the each side of his head, the webs between his fingers folded inside his fists.  
  
Pippo notices the gills for the first time only now: thin slits on the merman’s neck, on each side right below his jaw line, almost hidden behind the dark strands of hair.  
  
How could he ever kill a creature like this? He is fascinating, mysterious, dangerous, everything Pippo has ever loved about the sea. This is the creature he has been looking for all his life, and now he is one move away from destroying it.  
  
 _”They have no compassion for us. They only know destruction; they thrive on our suffering.”_  
  
 _I’m so sorry gramps_ , Pippo thinks bitterly as he relaxes his hold on the blade,  _I’m sorry, but you might see me up there a lot sooner than you expected._  
  
Then he removes the knife and shifts his weight off the heaving chest – he can already see the large bruise forming on the pale skin – and the merman shoots in motion immediately, pushing Pippo away from him violently and stumbling off the ledge and into the water, submerging with a loud splash.  
  
To Pippo’s surprise, he does not leave; instead, he emerges from the water on the other side of the cave, looking at him fearfully, accusingly, even disappointedly.  
  
Pippo is still holding the knife, but now it only makes him feel like a brute, like he is the monster here.  
  
  
  
 _He is dangerous. He is dangerous. He is dangerous. He is dangerous. He is dangerous..._  
  
 _Riccardo tries to shut off the words repeating through his mind over and over again._  
  
 _Giampaolo told him it was a bad idea; Cesare told him it was not safe; every single teacher he has ever had told him humans were nothing but bloodthirsty animals. He should have listened, he should have been more careful._  
  
 _His chest hurts with his every movement. He can still almost feel the blade of the knife against his throat – Riccardo’s knife, the one Cesare gave him when he came of age – the same knife that is now in the human’s hands._  
  
 _Riccardo swims circles around the cave, coming up to take a look at the human after every few rounds. He is sitting on the rocks, his eyes following Riccardo’s every move._  
  
 _Riccardo cannot give up, not so soon. Cesare’s henchmen are out there looking for him. They would not take any chances with the human, especially not if they knew what he had tried to do. Riccardo cannot have that; he cannot accept defeat without even trying._  
  
 _He is still Riccardo’s human, and no one else’s._  
  
 _Riccardo swims slowly closer to the rocks, rising from water on the other side of the rocky platform, regarding the man with suspicion in case he tries something again._  
  
 _He is not touching the food Riccardo brought him, even though he must be hungry. The sky is darkening outside, casting new shadows into the cave, which means a full day has passed since Riccardo found him and took him here._  
  
 _Maybe it is the hunger, making him so unpredictable, so aggressive._  
  
 _The human is looking at the food at least, his eyes darting quickly between Riccardo and the fish on the ground as his stomach lets out another growl, even louder than the previous one._  
  
 _“Eat, it’s good,” Riccardo tells him in his most commanding voice, even though he knows the human cannot understand him. He points at the fish and clams to emphasize his point, although not daring to move any closer._  
  
 _The human looks at him, then the food, before letting out a grumbling sound, flat and unfamiliar, completely different from any other animal Riccardo has ever encountered. It is supposed to be a language, Riccardo knows, but he cannot begin to understand how that could be possible._  
  
 _“You must be hungry,” Riccardo continues, swimming just a bit closer, keeping a close eye on the knife in the human’s hands, “I know you eat fish, I’ve seen your snares out there.”_  
  
 _The human replies something – Riccardo strains his hearing but still cannot figure out what it could be – and then he moves closer to the food, studying it, picking up a clam, turning it around in his hand suspiciously before sliding the blade of the knife between the shells._  
  
 _His eyes stay fixed at Riccardo even as he attempts to open the clam forcefully._  
  
 _Riccardo can see his hand fumbling dangerously, the unopened clam slipping from his fingers, and without thinking he dashes to the human’s side just as the blade actually cuts into his palm, fresh droplets of blood rushing through the wound._  
  
 _The human makes a loud sound of protest when Riccardo grabs his hand, trying to pull away, flailing his free hand insistently. The bloody knife lays on the rocks, forgotten._  
  
 _Riccardo is stronger than the human, though, and he ignores the protests as he pulls the hand to his lips, licking the wound, removing the blood the best he can._  
  
 _They will be in big trouble if a shark comes sniffing around because it could smell the blood. Well, Riccardo at least, since the human is still relatively safe up on the rocks. Riccardo might be fast enough to out-swim a shark in open waters, but being stuck with one in a cave is not exactly his favourite pastime._  
  
 _Riccardo looks up at the human’s face angrily when he tries to tug his hand away again, his mouth still pressed against the cut, and surprisingly the man gives up his struggles, staring at Riccardo’s eyes in confusion – maybe there is a bit of understanding in there gaze as well._  
  
 _His skin tastes different from the merpeople, only a slight residue of sea water lingering over the flavour that is utterly unfamiliar to Riccardo. The coppery taste of blood is similar, though, so strong that is covers most of the other flavours._  
  
 _Riccardo lets go of the hand only when he is certain the worst blood flow is over, picking up a piece of seaweed and pressing it against the wound to make sure there will not be any droplets hitting the water._  
  
 _The human is looking at his hand, a stunned silence stretching between them before he looks at Riccardo and says something, just a quiet sound, and Riccardo thinks he might recognize uncertainty on his face._  
  
 _It feels like a small victory on its own when the human does not move away when Riccardo climbs back on the ledge, only an arm’s length from him, the earlier fear only a small annoying sound somewhere is the back of his mind._  
  
 _His human is not dangerous – how could he be when he is looking so adorable, so lost and confused? He did not even hurt Riccardo when he had a chance. Surely he cannot be aggressive by nature, to hell with everything Riccardo’s teachers ever told him._  
  
 _“Here,” Riccardo tells with a hesitant smile, picking up the knife and the clam, snapping it open effortlessly and offering the edible part to the human, “You’re gonna starve if you don’t eat anything. We don’t want that, do we, Pup?”_  
  
 _Technically, he knows the human is not a pup anymore, but still he finds the name quite fitting. Once a pup, always a pup. At least he must be as cute as one, Riccardo is sure of it._  
  
 _The human is still looking at the offered food suspiciously, not making any move to take it, so Riccardo pushes a bit more, reaching towards him until he can press the clam against his lips._  
  
 _Finally the human opens his mouth and allows Riccardo to push the food in. The lips feel warm and soft against his fingers, and Riccardo cannot resist the urge to caress the lower lip gently before pulling his hand away. He stares at the lips, almost mesmerized, as Pup chews and swallows slowly, obviously still unsure whether it is a good idea._  
  
 _“Eat,” Riccardo tells him again, pointing at the fish waiting between them, and this time the human picks up a piece and bites into it on his own, his eyes never leaving Riccardo’s._  
  
 _He makes a face as he swallows again, coughing into his hand a couple of times. Suddenly it strikes Riccardo that humans are supposed to drink something – something not salty, he remembers one of his teachers saying – otherwise they are going to dry up and die._  
  
 _Riccardo cannot have that, not when his Pup is finally starting to trust him. Or is ‘trust’ a right word?_  
  
 _“Wait here,” he says quickly, trying to pet the matted hair but receiving only a disgruntled sound in response as Pup ducks his head away, “I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna get something for you real quick.”_  
  
  
  
Pippo is left staring at the water as the merman disappears back into the depths.  
  
He has no idea what is happening; all he knows is that whatever the creature did to him, the pain in his hand is almost gone, and that his body is thanking him for every bite of food he takes.  
  
He knows he is still in big trouble, not an inch closer to getting out of this blasted cave, but now he also has his confirmation that the merman is not trying to harm him, at least not physically.  
  
He is fairly sure being treated like a pet – because that is what he seems to be to the creature, there is no way around it – is not better in any way, but at least that means he still has a chance of coming out of this alive.  
  
Pippo eats another piece of fish, doing his best to ignore the too salty taste, and settles down on the ledge, kicking the water absent-mindedly, trying to figure out what he is supposed to do next.  
  
He finds himself wishing the merman was still with him as the darkness falls into the cave again, the cool night air seeping into his limbs, making it hard to fall asleep even with a full stomach and the exhaustion fogging his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I’m assuming that the merfolk society is like a pod, where the children are raised collectively. Given that they’re not inherently monogamous, and therefore don’t usually have a human-like family unit while growing up, the chief becomes kind of an authoritative father figure to most of them. This is what Cesare is to Riccardo and all the other kids in his age group – albeit Riccardo is obviously the favourite.  
> \- In case you didn’t know, sharks can reportedly smell even a drop of blood in a mass of water, which is why Riccardo is so quick to react when Pippo hurts himself.  
> \- There have been some studies that indicate that saliva (both animal and human) might have some attributes that speed up healing – that could also be the reason why animals often lick their wounds instinctively – and I’m assuming the merfolk believe this and use licking as a first aid kind of thing if they’re wounded and have nothing else to tend it with.


	3. in which the lines blur

The merman is not back by the next morning, and Pippo cannot help but feel a twinge of worry.  
  
Maybe he grew tired of Pippo already – found a new plaything and decided to leave him die in this blasted cave – or maybe all he wanted to do in the first place was to give Pippo some hope before starving him to death.  
  
Or maybe something bad happened to him. The sea is full of dangerous creatures, maybe more so than Pippo could ever imagine, and he doubts the merman is any match for a shark even with his inhuman strength.  
  
For a moment Pippo wonders whether he is more worried for his own safety or the merman’s, but then he reminds himself that the merman is not his friend, and definitely deserves no sympathy from him. Especially not more than what Pippo has shown him by now.  
  
What he really should worry about, though, is how he is going to get out of his prison if the merman does not come back.  
  
His throat feels dry and sore – caused by the thirst and the chilliness of the night, most likely – when he tries to shout towards the top of the cave. His mouth cannot even form spit properly, and his lips are chapped and flaky when he licks them.  
  
He sits down by the water, rubbing his arms through the wetsuit in hopes of warming himself up as the sunlight seeps into the cave. He eats some of the seaweed from the night before, despite knowing it will only make the thirst worse, because he needs to keep his strength up as long as he can.  
  
He needs to be prepared if he really wants to attempt swimming out of the cave. He honestly cannot see any other options anymore, not if the merman really does not come back soon.  
  
No, there might not be any other way out even if the merman does come back, Pippo reminds himself bitterly.  
  
He waits, lets the warmth of the day ease the shivering of his limbs. He checks the walls again, tries to create cracks between the rocks with the knife the merman left for him. He even tries to climb up the slippery walls, but gives up when he slips and the wound on his hand almost opens up again.  
  
It must be midday by the time he sits back down, dangling his feet in the surprisingly warm water, but his capturer is still nowhere to be found.  
  
Pippo knows he has to try and get out before the thirst and hunger get the better of him – the longer he waits, the more difficult it will be to dive through the tunnel, even if it turns out to be shorter than he fears.  
  
He steps into the water after a moment’s hesitation. He tries to peer into the tunnel through the still water, but all he can make out is a dark shape of the passageway.  
  
There must be other caves nearby, he assures himself. His prison cannot be the only one like this: there must be air pockets on the way out, even caves above the sea level. The merman obviously could take him through the tunnels even while unconscious without drowning him in the process, so he should be able to get out on his own. There is no other way.  
  
A nasty voice at the back of his head reminds him that the merman had the advantage of speed on his side, but Pippo ignores the thought stubbornly.  
  
He can control his breathing well enough – if there is no light ahead, he can always turn back and return to the cave. That way he will at least know he truly is trapped, with no other hope but to wait for someone to find him. If they find him, that is.  
  
Pippo closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, forcing the excess air out of his lungs before taking a deep breath, just like he used to do ahead of the freediving competitions back in the day. He repeats the action a few times, adjusting his body to the feeling.  
  
Then he takes one final look around the cave – still no sign of the merman – and kicks himself away from the ledge, swimming closer to the tunnel. One more inhale – deep, calm, slow – and then he dives into the depths, forcing himself to keep his eyes open as he swims through the passageway.  
  
The tunnel is narrow and dark – the only light coming from behind him as far as he can tell – and Pippo feels almost impossibly slow without his swimfins as he pushes himself forwards, using the rocky walls to move faster through the dark waters.  
  
The salty water hurts his eyes, but he needs to look ahead. He thinks he can see dim light in front of him, and a wave of relief flushes through him as he speeds up a bit more, pulling himself along the walls, careful not to waste any of this air reserves.  
  
Another cave, completely submerged, only small cracks letting the blue light into the deep waters. If he can move the rocks and widen those cracks, maybe he can get out.  
  
Pippo’s lungs are aching with the lack of air, and he knows it will be hard to get back if he cannot make it out of here now. But he cannot turn back yet, not when his escape might be just a few rocks away from him.  
  
He swims towards the light, finding the biggest crack, running his hands over the rocks, feeling his way around to compensate for his impaired vision. Just a few loose rocks at the edge, and he could slip himself through the hole, make his way all the way to the surface.  
  
The pain in his chest is intensifying with his every movement, and he exhales a bit of air out of his lungs to ease the sensation. There is no going back now – he needs to get through here.  
  
His sight is clouding even more as he tugs on the rocks, unmoving,  _painfully_  unmoving. He swims along the wall, desperately trying to find a rock not fixed in place. There has to be one. There has to be!  
  
Panic is taking a hold of his mind, the solid rock and the cracks in the wall merging together in his blurring eyes. He hits the hard surface with his fist, and he can feel the skin breaking more than see it. He can almost taste the blood on his lips, mixed with the sea water – probably imagined, he assures himself – and it stirs him into motion.  
  
 _There’s no way out. There’s no way out. There’s no way out…_  
  
He needs to get back to the cave, but his limbs feel almost impossibly heavy as he tries to kick himself into the direction of the tunnel. Which way did he come from? Which tunnel is the right one?  
  
There is movement behind him, and Pippo feels it more than sees it. A shark? Did they smell his blood so soon?  
  
The pain in his lungs forces him to exhale sharply as he tries to turn around, all remaining air escaping his lungs at once, and then he can feel the water rushing into his mouth and down his throat even as he tries to fight the instinctive need to breathe in.  
  
Then he feels something taking a hold of him, wrapping around his waist, stopping him from moving. He tries to fight it at first, but then his groggy mind finally makes out a face – the merman, his merman came back – and he gives up the struggle, bordering at the edge of consciousness.  
  
He can feel a tug somewhere at the bottom of his belly as the merman kicks them into motion, incredibly fast, pulling him through the dark tunnel, and then breaking the water surface and suddenly Pippo can breathe again.  
  
He cannot enjoy the feeling for long, as a fit of coughs forces its way out of his chest, trying to push the sea water out of his lungs.  
  
The merman takes him to the shallow waters, and the ground under his feet feels like a blessing. Pippo keeps coughing, leaning most of his weight against his saviour – his captor – and the merman rubs his back, saying something unintelligible, nothing but a melodic hum in Pippo’s ears.  
  
But the sound is calming him down, and Pippo has no energy left to ponder the messed up logic behind that. All he can think of is the immense  _relief_ , because he is not dead, not yet anyways.  
  
Finally the water is out of his lungs, leaving only a terrible ache in his chest and throat, and Pippo can collect himself, pull himself away from the merman’s arms.  
  
He looks the merman in the eyes and opens his mouth to— what? To thank him, to apologize, to explain? No matter what he says, the creature will not understand him anyways.  
  
Before he can say anything, the merman  _slaps_  him, a stream of high-pitched noises coming out of his mouth at once, not a care in the world that Pippo cannot understand a word he is saying. He keeps hitting Pippo’s chest with his fists, eyes wide, gills quivering with his incessant babble.  
  
Pippo might not understand what he is saying, but he does recognize the obvious distress in the merman’s every gesture, every sound. The creature looks like he is about to cry – Pippo wonders idly if they  _can_  cry, living underwater and all.  
  
“I’m sorry, okay?” he tries to keep his voice calm, hoping his tone is enough to tell the merman what he is saying, but the merman does not quiet down, still on the roll with his rant.  
  
Pippo takes a hold of his wrists when the merman tries to hit him again, pulling the balled fists against his wetsuit-clad chest, and then he does the only thing that comes to mind – he leans in and presses his mouth against the merman’s, effectively halting the heated tirade, tasting the salt on the full, pale lips.  
  
“Thank you. For saving me,” he says softly once he pulls away from the stunned merman. He feels almost like laughing when the creature opens his mouth and then closes it again, like completely out of words.  
  
Then the merman pushes at his chest, making him stumble backwards and fall fully into the water again, before diving and disappearing into the dark tunnel before Pippo can do anything to stop him.  
  
  
  
 _It does not take long for Riccardo to find the bottles he dropped earlier, floating in the tunnel fairly close to where he found Pup._  
  
 _He hugs the bottles against his chest with a sigh of relief. It had taken him ages to find any drinks – at least he hopes they are drinkable, since he has no idea what the humans actually put in those bottles – swimming far too close to coast for his liking, spying on the people loitering around the sandy beaches._  
  
 _In the end he had managed to snatch three bottles from a boat a bit off the coast, having seriously risked getting caught when he climbed over the side of the boat to reach his prize._  
  
 _Pup better appreciate all the trouble he goes through for him._  
  
 _Pup. Pup who nearly drowned himself while trying to escape from Riccardo. Pup who kissed Riccardo, straight on the mouth, instead of listening to his much deserved scolding. Just like that, like it was the most natural thing in the world._  
  
 _Riccardo does not return to the cave right away, hiding in the tunnels instead; floating upside-down with his tail hooked on a cliff, enjoying the feeling of underwater currents running through his hair._  
  
 _What do humans even mean by kissing? Maybe it is just a regular way of apologizing to them, and Riccardo is just making a too big deal out of it. He does not know anything about the habits of humans, after all – a fact Giampaolo keeps reminding him of._  
  
 _But they have seen humans kissing while spying on them before. Small pecks as well as deep smooches: it all had seemed very similar to what Riccardo and Giampaolo have been doing as long as he can remember._  
  
 _But why would Pup kiss him, then? Why would he kiss Riccardo if kissing is something humans do to show affection, attraction, sexual desire?_  
  
 _Riccardo may have ignored most of the lessons they had about humans, but he does remember the old legend of a human that fell in love with a mermaid, grew obsessed, and ended up killing both himself and the poor mermaid who did nothing to warrant his sick affections._  
  
 _He also remembers the moral behind the story: humans are selfish animals that only want to possess everything they find beautiful, and they pursue to destroy everything the cannot have – they are beneath merfolk in every aspect, which is why they are so drawn to the beauty of the sea._  
  
 _There are other tales of merpeople associating themselves with humans: all cautionary examples, horror stories, nasty fables whispered during childhood sleepovers for giggles, long before merchildren even begin to understand their sexuality._  
  
 _Riccardo knows this all, has always understood the disgust associated with human sex – it is something the pod elders work to instil in them from the birth – but then he thinks back to the cave, to the human’s chapped lips on his, to the curious taste that pushed through the familiar flavour of sea water._  
  
 _Riccardo thinks back, and suddenly he is not quite so sure he can call it disgusting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I had to cut this chapter in half because it would’ve hit the 6k mark otherwise, and this seemed as good a place to stop as any. This means the story will have five chapters in total instead of the four I originally intended. On the other hand, I have the next chapter almost finished, and I’ll probably post it sometime tomorrow.  
> \- I've never had a near-drowning experience, so I don’t know if that part is even close to accurate. Artistic licence?  
> \- I think of the legend about the human falling for a mermaid as a merfolk version of the _Little Mermaid_ , albeit a much more grotesque and unromantic one because to the merfolk humans are not a fairytale – stories like this are meant to teach the children about life, and for the merchildren this lesson is very much a concrete one.


	4. in which the lines don't matter

Pippo is sitting on the rocks, the zipper of his wetsuit opened and the top pulled down to his waist. He would have preferred to pull the suit off completely, but he is not sure he wants to appear in front of the merman in only his swimming trunks, especially after the kissing stunt he pulled earlier.  
  
(Not that the merman would care, considering he wears no clothes whatsoever.)  
  
Pippo has no idea what possessed him to do it. Yes, the merman has pretty face – in that otherworldly, mysterious, exotic kind of way – and he did just save Pippo from certain drowning, but since when has Pippo been the damsel in distress that can only show his thankfulness by smooching his rescuer?  
  
He really wishes the merpeople do not view kissing the same way humans do, because it would be painfully difficult to try and explain to the creature that no, Pippo does not wish to have sexual relations with him despite the kiss.  
  
Although judging from the merman’s reaction, Pippo doubts he is particularly keen on the idea either. As far as Pippo knows, he might have signed his own death warrant with that one thoughtless action. He is just a pet to his captor, after all, nothing more than an animal that just crossed the line by a mile.  
  
He looks at his hurt hand, wrapped in seaweed again to keep the blood from the new wound dropping into the water. A useless precaution, really, considering how much he bled before he managed to get out of the water, but it is the best he can do.  
  
He is shaken out of his thoughts when the merman emerges again, causing a loud splash when he pulls himself onto the rocks with one hand, his other arm wrapped around something that looks like plastic bottles.  
  
Pippo does not have time to say anything before the merman offers the bottles to him – two bottles of mineral water and one lemonade, now that Pippo has a chance to take a better look – smiling triumphantly when Pippo takes them from his hands after only a moment’s hesitation.  
  
“Did you steal them? For me?” Pippo cannot help but sound amused as he studies the bottles, all unopened and undamaged as far as he can tell. How else could the merman come across something so obviously manmade? It is not like he can just pop into a shop to buy them.  
  
The merman says something, tilting his head –  _so cute_ , Pippo’s mind notes helpfully – as he gestures towards the bottles, and Pippo takes it as a command to drink.  
  
He opens one of the mineral water bottles and wastes no time before taking a long gulp, savouring the heavenly feeling of water rushing down his throat. He drinks half a bottle at one go before finally forcing himself to slow down – these bottles might be the only drinks he will get in a while, so he should be careful not to waste them.  
  
He realizes the merman’s eyes are still on him only when he puts the drink down. He is studying Pippo curiously, his lips slightly parted, a tip of his tongue visible between his teeth – teeth that look much sharper than humans’ – and an impossibly clear memory of the kiss flashes through Pippo’s mind again.  
  
“Thanks,” he says with a half-smile, ducking his head down to avoid the searching ice blue gaze, “And sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you, back there.”  
  
The merman puckers his lips, probably not understanding a word Pippo says, and then he responds in his own melodic language, leaning in a bit closer, meeting Pippo’s eyes with his own again.  
  
The merman looks almost confused, Pippo thinks. It feels like the creature is actually looking at him now, almost like an equal instead of a stupid animal or a plaything that he can have as his own – like he really wishes he could understand Pippo.  
  
The merman bites his lip, like a nervous gesture, and then he hesitantly reaches his hand towards Pippo who resists the urge to pull back, just as curious as the merman to see where this is going.  
  
Warm fingers on his neck – inhumanly warm, Pippo thinks, although it might be just because his own body temperature is lower than it should be – tracing his Adam’s apple before trailing lower, feeling his collarbones that were previously covered by the wetsuit, then moving on to his chest slowly, caressing the damp skin carefully.  
  
Pippo’s breath hitches when the merman rubs a thumb on his nipple, almost inaudible but still enough to catch the merman’s attention, and he retracts his hand quickly, his wide eyes reflecting surprise and even fear at his own actions.  
  
They stare at each other for what feels like ages, neither of them quite sure what to do next.  
  
Pippo takes in the merman’s features: the inhumanly light eyes, the quivering gills, the point at his hip where the pale hairless skin slides into silvery blue, and finally the tail – smooth, elegant, beautiful.  
  
Pippo knows he should not find the sight arousing – everything in this creature practically screams  _not human_ , even the human-like features distorted and strange – but then he meets the merman’s shy gaze again, and fuck if he is not the most exquisite thing Pippo has ever seen.  
  
His mind must be playing tricks on him. Maybe the lack of oxygen caused him brain damage. Or maybe it is some kind of an instinct that makes him feel attracted towards the creature that saved his life – despite the fact that Pippo would not have been down there if the merman had not dragged him here in the first place.  
  
Maybe his grandfather was right, maybe the merfolk possess some kind of magic that draws men towards them. Pippo really should have heeded his warnings.  
  
The dark bruise on the merman’s chest looks even worse now than the day before, the reddish purple standing out from the almost white skin.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Pippo apologizes quietly, pointing towards the bruise, hoping the message comes across through the gestures even without a common language. He reaches his healthy hand towards the merman when he tilts his head in confusion.  
  
He moves slowly to allow the merman enough time to pull away if he wants to – the rational part of Pippo’s brain is begging for the creature to pull away, to put a stop to this craziness – but he stays put, and finally Pippo touches the bruised skin, presses his palm against it tentatively.  
  
The merman lets out a high-pitched whine, immediately jerking away from the uncomfortable touch.  
  
“Sorry,” Pippo says quickly, pulling his hand away, showing both his palms in an appeasing gesture, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
  
The merman shoots him a suspicious look, but he does not seem that angry. He does slip back into the water, though, and with a one last glance at Pippo he disappears into the depths.  
  
Pippo lets out a relieved sigh when the merman disappears from view, taking another sip of water, trying to collect himself, because there is no way in the world that  _flirting_  with his capturer can be a good idea.  
  
He needs to pull his shit together, and hopefully find a way to get out of this mess before he does something incredibly stupid. Maybe he should try shouting again.  
  
  
  
 _Riccardo returns to the cave just as the sun is starting to set outside, carrying a pile of oysters wrapped inside long strips of seaweed. He had wanted to get some fish as well, but Cesare’s men had been swarming around the best fishing waters so he had decided to play it safe._  
  
 _With the way things are going with Pup, Riccardo is beginning to think that handing him over to the chief might be the rational thing to do after all. But rationality has never been one of Riccardo’s defining attributes, and even if the new developments are scary and unexpected, he is not willing to run away from the challenge._  
  
 _So he goes back, smiles at Pup happily, and sets up the meal, opening the oysters expertly while the human studies his every movement from afar._  
  
 _Riccardo may not understand what the human says to him, may not know how humans act in these situations, but he recognizes the barely veiled desire in Pup’s eyes. There is no difference to the merpeople in that sense: want is still want, lust is still lust._  
  
 _“C’mon, you should eat,” he tells Pup softly, beckoning him to come closer, picking up an oyster shell and slurping down the meat._  
  
 _Pup walks over – how he can stay upright on those stumps, Riccardo cannot even begin to decipher – and sits down next to him, just out of arm’s reach, like scared Riccardo might touch him again._  
  
 _Riccardo **wants**  to touch him again, wants to find out if the rest of his skin is as soft and clammy and curiously cool compared to Riccardo’s. Want, want, want…_  
  
 _The realization terrifies him – all the old stories lingering at the back of his mind, the words of the pod elders, the disgusted jeers condemning human sex._  
  
 _He is not supposed to feel attracted to his human. Pup is his pet, not any different from the porpoises he used to raise when he was younger. Nothing but an animal._  
  
 _There is nothing in the human that should appeal to Riccardo: he is skinny, with blemished skin and wrinkles between his eyebrows; his body is covered with short, almost invisible hairs, making it rough to the touch; and the legs are ugly, short and inelegant, no match to a nice tail._  
  
 _But when he looks at Pup, really looks at him, he does not see an animal, cannot think of him as the ugly savage he has been taught to see._  
  
 _Pup eats a few of the oysters, his eyes flickering to Riccardo as he swallows and then takes a gulp from a bottle. He flashes a crooked smile when he notices Riccardo is looking at him, picking up another oyster, murmuring something Riccardo does not understand. Maybe a thank you?_  
  
 _His lips look much softer now, the hydration obviously helping already. Riccardo makes a mental note to go pick up a few more bottles the next day._  
  
 _“You’ve got something there,” he points to the side of his own mouth, and Pup wipes his lips with the back of his hand, letting out a gruff sound that might be a laugh – it must be a laugh, Riccardo concludes when Pup looks at him, his eyes twinkling._  
  
 _When Riccardo looks the human in the eyes, he does not see an animal – he sees someone who is the same as him: curious, intrigued, confused, even scared. Scared of doing something he might regret afterwards, but also scared of not doing anything at all._  
  
 _Pup’s hands are mesmerizing: long, thin fingers with no webs, a few veins visible beneath the light brown skin. Riccardo cannot help but follow his hands with his eyes as Pup closes the top of the bottle and sets it down next to the oysters._  
  
 _He reaches for the hand without any conscious effort, realizing what he is doing only when he wraps his fingers around the human’s._  
  
 _“Sorry,” he breathes out, but he does not let go of the hand, his eyes fixed on their intertwined fingers, the contrast between his fair skin and the human’s darker one only emphasizing how different they are._  
  
 _“Your hands are so cold,” he says in amazement, lifting both their hands carefully, splaying his fingers against Pup’s to compare them – the human’s fingers are much longer than his, and the missing webs make the digits look almost impossibly long._  
  
 _The human does not attempt to pull away, letting Riccardo study his hand with almost sick curiosity._  
  
 _Then the human inches closer and reaches his free hand towards Riccardo’s face, pressing just the tips of his fingers against his cheek, running them down towards his jaw line in tentative caress. His fingers feel even colder against Riccardo’s face, and the merman leans into the touch unconsciously, biting the inside of his lip to keep himself from uttering a sound._  
  
 _Pup says something, just a low grumble to Riccardo’s ears, and then he slides his fingers lower, ghosting them over Riccardo’s gills, searching his eyes as if asking for permission before actually touching the slits on his neck._  
  
 _Riccardo cannot keep the surprised whimper from escaping his lips. The gills are nothing more than a decoration when he is out of water, but they are still extremely sensitive to touch, quivering just slightly under Pup’s cool fingers._  
  
 _Pup’s gaze is fixated on Riccardo’s neck as he traces his fingers along the long slits, and Riccardo has to focus all his energy on not moaning aloud. It never felt like this underwater. Maybe he should ask Giampaolo to fuck him on shore sometime._  
  
 _His thoughts are interrupted when the human leans in, and for a second Riccardo thinks he is going to kiss him again, but then Pup presses his nose against Riccardo’s hair, breathing in his smell._  
  
 _Riccardo realizes only then that his scent must be just as exotic to Pup as the human’s scent is to Riccardo. He smells **earthy** , for the lack of better word, something Riccardo has never smelled before in all his life._  
  
 _Pup is saying something into his ear – a quiet murmur twining itself through Riccardo’s mind – and he finally pulls his hand free from Riccardo’s hold, bringing it to his neck as well, stroking the gills on the other side carefully._  
  
 _Riccardo lets out a shaky breath that comes out as a soft whine instead. He is shivering, chills running down his back. He tries to remind himself that he should not be doing this: he should not allow the human this close, not when he could hurt him at any second._  
  
 _But it feels so **good** , so unfamiliar and sensual and intense._  
  
 _He lifts his hands to Pup’s chest hesitantly, parting his lips and finally letting the quiet, breathy moans slip from his throat. The human must know how he is affecting Riccardo by now, so there is no point in hiding it._  
  
 _Riccardo splays his palms against the weirdly cool skin, the taut muscles under his touch not that different from the merpeople, and yet it is so unfamiliar, strange, exciting._  
  
 _Pup gasps, his lips brushing against Riccardo’s ear, when the merman runs his fingers over his nipples. Riccardo finds the reaction odd – he has never met anyone with sensitive nipples before, males and females alike, so it must be a human attribute – odd but also intriguing._  
  
 _He wants to find out more, wants to understand what makes his human tick, wants to discover every point in his body that draws out a genuine reaction._  
  
 _Riccardo slips one of his hands up to Pup’s hair, rubs the back of his head with his fingertips, and then he cranes his neck just enough reach the skin with his lips, licking a long line along the human’s jaw. He tastes only a hint of salt, but beneath that there is another flavour, a hint of that same earthy substance that Riccardo could smell on him._  
  
 _He realizes he is fully pressed against the human’s chest only when Pup’s hands halt on his neck, hesitant, like uncertain if he is allowed to go any further. Silly Pup, like he needs to get permission now, Riccardo giggles softly against his skin before licking his cheek affectionately._  
  
 _“Don’t stop, not now,” he pleads quietly, flicking the nipple under his fingers one more time before sliding his hand downwards between their bodies, rubbing his belly, finding the curious trail of coarse hair going down from his navel._  
  
 _Humans have hair in such weird places, Riccardo muses silently, but his trail of thought is interrupted when Pup lets out a low groan and twists uncomfortably against Riccardo’s body. He then drops his hands down to Riccardo’s shoulders and pushes him back forcefully, creating just enough distance between them that they can see each other’s faces._  
  
 _Pup’s dark eyes look almost black now, and Riccardo cannot tell if it is because of him or the darkness that has set into the cave while they were preoccupied._  
  
 _“We’re doing nothing wrong,” Riccardo voices the thought that has been running through his mind since that first impromptu kiss. It is a reassurance more to himself than for the human, who does not understand him in any case, “It’s okay. No one needs to know.”_  
  
 _Pup meets his eyes resolutely, his hands sliding down his arms, a gentle caress. He says something, his lips twitching uncertainly. He looks just as confused as Riccardo is feeling, and it makes Riccardo feel even more certain that this cannot be wrong._  
  
 _Riccardo leans in again when Pup makes no move to either pull away or carry on what they were doing, stopping when his lips are only a breath away from the human’s, “I want this.”_  
  
 _And even if Pup cannot understand what Riccardo is saying, the human is still the one to close the final distance and press their lips together, attacking Riccardo’s mouth with fervour, not wasting any time before pushing his tongue between the merman’s lips._  
  
 _Riccardo lets him take control even though he knows he could easily overpower the human if he so wished. He leans backwards until he is flat on his back against the rocky ground, the human leaning over him, long fingers grasping Riccardo’s waist, his lips never leaving Riccardo’s._  
  
 _Riccardo squirms under him when Pup trails one of his hands lower, caressing his hip, finding the place where the pale skin turns silvery. He is so turned on, his cock aching inside its pouch. Riccardo wraps his tail around one of Pup’s legs in attempt to pull him closer, to get more contact._  
  
 _So impractical, these short stumps. How do humans have sex when they have four instead of two of them getting in the way?_  
  
 _Pup’s hand freezes at Riccardo’s hip and he pulls away from the kiss – earning a displeased whine from Riccardo – struggling to sit up, looking down their bodies curiously. His gaze lingers on Riccardo’s swollen cock, only half-covered by the slit in his tail anymore. He licks his lips slowly, and he says something in a low voice, his eyes flickering up to Riccardo’s face only momentarily._  
  
 _“You— You can’t stop there!” Riccardo protests incredulously when Pup makes no attempt to carry on his touches. He reaches down for the human’s hand, wraps his fingers around the bony wrist, tries to make it move from its place at his hip._  
  
 _That brings Pup out of his trance, and he laughs – actually laughs, the bastard – before leaning down to drop a kiss against Riccardo’s neck, his breath teasing his gills, making him shiver involuntarily._  
  
 _Then he finally moves his hand. Riccardo’s fingers are still wrapped around his wrist, guiding him downwards until the human grasps his erection with his long fingers, pulls the cock out of the pouch completely. That is as far as Riccardo manages before loosening his hold and throwing his head back, moaning unashamedly, because it feels so **good**  to be touched after the too long wait._  
  
 _Pup does not kiss him again, his eyes focused on his hand and Riccardo’s cock as he strokes the full length, uncertainly at first but then finding a rhythm, his hold getting firmer as he gains confidence._  
  
 _Riccardo tries to buck himself into the calloused hand – moving is much easier underwater, he curses inwardly – wrapping his tail more insistently around Pup’s leg, pulls the human flush against his body until he can wound his arms around his neck. He wants more contact; he wants everything he can get._  
  
 _The release washes over him far too soon for his liking, and Riccardo whimpers loudly as his seed shoot against his belly and over Pup’s fingers while the human keeps jerking him off until he is fully spent._  
  
 _“That was so good,” Riccardo sighs once he has caught his breath, glancing adoringly at Pup who is still studying his cock, tracing his fingers around the skin of the pouch as if it is the first time he has seen such a thing._  
  
 _Maybe it is, his groggy mind supplies now that the fog of arousal has subsided. Riccardo sits up so fast he almost pushes Pup off him as the sudden realization hits him._  
  
 _“Take that off,” he tells the human sharply, tugging at the black fake skin hanging off his waist, “I wanna see you. How different are you?”_  
  
 _When Pup does not react right away, Riccardo takes a firm hold of the cloth and pulls it down, only to find another fake skin, this one blue and much smaller, only covering the tops of Pup’s legs – and his obvious erection. A fake pouch to cover himself? How impractical can the humans be?_  
  
 _Pup laughs at him again, a breathy laugh, and then he lifts his hips and pushes the offending garment down, revealing himself much to Riccardo’s satisfaction._  
  
 _He is so **different** : dark hair surrounding the cock that is bigger than Riccardo’s – bigger than any of the mermen he has been with, to be honest – and only the tip is of the darker, reddish colour the mermen cocks usually are, the rest is closer to Pup’s skin colour._  
  
 _Riccardo finally understands why it took such a long time for Pup to collect himself when he saw Riccardo’s cock – the shock must have been about the same as his is now._  
  
 _He keeps staring for who knows how long, before he finally dares to touch the human, running one finger along the length. He stops at the hilt, studying the coarse hair curiously, before tentatively wrapping his fingers around the cock, eliciting a soft gasp from the human._  
  
 _“You’re really big,” he says with a smile, leaning in to talk into Pup’s ear even though he knows it will not get his message across any better, “Wonder how it’d feel inside me. We should find out, huh?”_  
  
 _Pup just groans as Riccardo runs his fingers over the tip – oh, so it is more sensitive than the rest of his flesh, Riccardo notes triumphantly – jerking his hips into the exploring touches, grasping the back of Riccardo’s neck and pulling him into a hard kiss, his teeth scraping the merman’s lower lip._  
  
 _It only takes moments for Pup to come undone once Riccardo figures out the best ways to urge him on, stroking the length with one hand, his focus on the tip, while fondling the testicles with the other – that is new for Riccardo as well, even though he knows mermen have those as well, safely hidden inside the pouch._  
  
 _Pup spills his seed over Riccardo’s hand with a suppressed moan, like he is embarrassed of making sounds, his forehead rested on Riccardo’s shoulder._  
  
 _Riccardo lifts his soiled hand to his lips curiously, licking the cum experimentally, enjoying the unfamiliar taste – it is much milder than what he is used to, only a hint of salt in the pleasant flavour._  
  
 _He smiles at Pup, whose eyes are fixated on his lips, leaning in to peck his mouth playfully before going back to licking the seed off his hand, holding the human’s gaze challengingly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I was going to go into a long and detailed explanation of merman physiology and genitalia here, but then I realized most of it is explained in the chapter anyways. Let’s just think of it as a comparison, with Pippo being an average human and Monto being an average merman.  
> \- The difference in body heat was inspired – again – by the dolphin physiology. Mermen’s core body temperature is close to that of humans, but they have higher metabolism which generates a lot of heat to keep the body temperature from dropping while underwater. Their skin is also thicker and they have more blubber (especially in the tail) to keep the heat from escaping. On the other hand, they release excess heat through the tip of their tail (dolphins use dorsal fin and flukes) and through the thinner skin of their upper body. As they’re adjusted to living in deep waters, staying on shore where the outside temperature is much higher can cause overheating. So there you go, this is why Monto is so much hotter, literally, compared to Pippo – his skin is releasing the heat that would burn him alive otherwise.  
> \- They also don’t sweat like humans do, which is one explanation for Pippo’s “earthy” smell. Another obvious reason could be that he hasn’t spent all his life living in the salty water and eating seafood covered in the said water. Feel free to think up more reasons on your own.


	5. in which decisions must be made

Pippo wakes up feeling warm, almost feverishly so. It takes him a while to notice he is lying on top of something soft instead of the rocky ground he has grown so used to, and another moment before he realizes that the thing he has rested his head on is the merman’s chest.  
  
The memories from the night before start flooding his mind: the scalding hands on him, the tongue running over his cheek, the inhumanly high-pitched moans when Pippo ran his fingers over the merman’s straining erection.  
  
Pippo sits up quickly, earning a displeased whine from under him when he elbows the merman’s side by accident. The wide ice blue eyes meet his the moment Pippo turns to look at his companion, not a sign of tiredness visible as the merman lifts himself from the ground, leaning back on his forearms, looking accusingly at Pippo.  
  
Pippo takes in the pursed lips and knitted eyebrows, and a sudden surge of adoration washes over him. He is so massively fucked, he thinks bitterly, even as he keeps looking at the creature in front of him, admiring his porcelain smooth skin in the blue morning light – only blemish the slowly healing bruise over his breastbone – before his eyes settle on the bulging skin in the front of his tail.  
  
He had not even spared a thought on what the merman’s genitals would look like before last night, and even then the darkness had hidden the details from him. Now he cannot pry his eyes away from the bulge, the slit on the silvery skin slightly open, revealing the reddish flesh and the shape of the merman’s cock hidden underneath.  
  
The sight is absolutely mouth-watering – or it would be if Pippo had any spit to spare with his constant dehydration – and Pippo knows he should find this attraction worrying, even disgusting.  
  
He remembers the curious look in the merman’s eyes when he saw Pippo’s cock last night – the amazement and surprise, and then the delight when he found new ways to drive Pippo crazy with his experimental touches. All those feelings that were running through Pippo’s mind as well.  
  
His thoughts are interrupted when the merman pokes his side painfully, saying something in his bubbly voice, drawing Pippo’s attention back to his face.  
  
“Sorry, I got distracted,” Pippo apologizes half-heartedly, a side of his mouth twitching into an involuntary smile. What is this creature doing to him? Why cannot Pippo stop looking at him, wanting him?  
  
The merman takes the smile as an invitation to reach out for him. He slips his hand to the back of Pippo’s head and pulls him into a long kiss, his warm tongue tangling with Pippo’s, searching every corner of his mouth. He tastes like salt water and seaweed, and it vaguely reminds Pippo of the times he went swimming with Simone when they were kids, before they got into diving.  
  
Simone. His brother must worried sick, certain that Pippo has drowned. Their mother is probably crying even now, and here he is, kissing the creature that is solely responsible for it all.  
  
The realization makes Pippo pull away from the kiss and halt his hand that is inching towards the merman’s cock, practically itching to touch him again.  
  
This is not right: he should be fighting his capturer, yelling towards the top of the cave, trying to find a way out of his prison.  
  
Pippo tries to move away from the merman, shaking his head, forcing himself to ignore his own straining erection beneath the swimming trunks – he had kicked the wetsuit off before going to sleep – but he is stuck on the merman’s eyes again.  
  
The creature looks confused, almost dejected, hurt. His lower lip in quivering barely noticeably, but Pippo still sees it, and it feels like a punch in the gut. At the same time he hates the merman, and hates the fact that he  _cannot_  hate him.  
  
“My family’s out there,” he voices his worries to the merman, although it is actually more for himself, an attempt to remind himself of what is actually important, “You’re keeping me here, away from them, and they probably think I’m dead. They’re crying. They’re hurting. And it’s all your fault.”  
  
His eyes are stinging, and then he can feel a single tear rolling down his cheek. His body is losing precious water even now, and he has only one bottle of mineral water left.  
  
The merman’s eyes follow the tear track, like mesmerized, and then he touches Pippo’s face with his fingertips, collecting the moisture from his cheek just before it reaches his jaw. He studies his fingers in confusion, and Pippo’s earlier doubts are confirmed right then: merpeople cannot cry, and his merman cannot even begin to decipher what the wetness in Pippo’s eyes could be.  
  
“But it’s not your place to worry about it, is it?” Pippo continues with a deep sigh, catching the merman’s hand inside his own bigger one, pressing the webbed fingers against his cheek gently, “Do you even have a family? Are you all alone? Is that why you took me here?”  
  
When the merman only purses his lips in confusion, Pippo finally gives up the fight and leans in to kiss him again, nibbling his impossibly soft lips, slipping his hands back to the narrow waist and the warm skin, caressing the curve at the small of the merman’s back.  
  
The merman whines against his lips, wriggling closer to him and tangling his fingers into Pippo’s matted hair, tugging on the persistent knots almost painfully.  
  
And then he slips out of Pippo’s hold so quickly the man has barely enough time to notice he is gone. There is a soft splash, and then nothing but ripples in the surface of the water for a while, until the merman resurfaces, throwing his head back to whisk the dark hair away from his face, smiling at Pippo invitingly.  
  
“You want me to swim with you?” Pippo asks incredulously, moving closer to the edge of the platform, dipping one foot into the water. The merman’s smile widens, and he holds out his hand for Pippo to take.  
  
“You’re not gonna drown me to protect your virtue, are you?” Pippo is only half-joking – what does he know about the merfolk chastity rules, after all – but he steps into the water nonetheless, taking the offered hand after only a moment’s hesitation.  
  
He regrets the decision the moment he feels a powerful tug at his arm, and then he ends up face-first in the water, flailing his arms and legs in panic before he finds his footing again and comes back to the surface, coughing the sea water out of his lungs.  
  
The merman is  _laughing_ , the bastard, the melodic sound of his giggles filling the cave, his eyes sparkling with mirth.  
  
“Why you—” Pippo pounces forward, trying to get a hold of the merman, but the creature is too fast, disappearing back into the depths, and Pippo grabs only thin air, stumbling into the deeper waters without meaning to.  
  
There are hands on his waist, and for a second he thinks the merman will try to pull him underwater, but then he can feel the fingers slipping under the waistband of his swimming trunks, pulling them down his legs, taking an advantage of the momentum as Pippo kicks against the water to stay afloat.  
  
The merman emerges from the water within seconds, holding up the piece of clothing with a triumphant smile. He twists the trunks into a small ball in his hands and throws them to the other side of the cave, and Pippo cannot help but laugh at his smug face.  
  
“So you wanted me naked?” Pippo asks amusedly, settling his hands on the merman’s shoulders, caressing the sides of his neck with his thumbs, wrapping one of his legs around the smooth hip, trusting the merman to keep them from sinking, “You could’ve just asked.”  
  
He feels the merman’s cock pressed against his own when the creature splays his hands over his buttocks, pulling their hips flush against each other. The merman keeps stroking his ass curiously, his fingers dipping between the cheeks, rubbing the sensitive skin experimentally.  
  
“You don’t have that either, huh?” Pippo asks with a breathy laugh, running the sole of his foot along the long tail, feeling the fluid movements that take them slowly around the cave, apparently demanding no conscious effort from the merman who is seeking Pippo’s lips with his own again.  
  
Pippo pushes his erection against the merman’s with a suppressed groan as the warm tongue flicks between his lips, urging him to deepen the kiss.  
  
The merman’s hands move away from his ass, one arm wrapping around Pippo’s waist to keep him close as their tongues caress one another, their lips locked together almost seamlessly. The other hand settles on Pippo’s wrist, pulling the hand from his neck, guiding it between their bodies, but instead out touching their aligned cocks, he goes lower.  
  
Pippo realizes what the merman is doing only when his fingers brush against another slit, one he did not notice before, and the merman bites on Pippo’s lip, a loud whimper escaping his lips when Pippo pushes one finger carefully through the folds of thick skin, feeling the warm flesh beneath it.  
  
“You want me to fuck you?” he asks in amazement, not even expecting an answer, and the merman does not offer one, pressing his mouth against Pippo’s shoulder, biting the skin, probably to keep himself from making more noises.  
  
The tight clenching heat surrounds Pippo’s finger as he pushes deeper: it is practically pulling him in, no sign of resistance whatsoever. It feels nothing like human anus – or vagina for that matter – and Pippo cannot help but wonder how his cock is going to fit inside when the tightness feels so intense even around his digit.  
  
The teeth on his shoulder are sharp, and Pippo has to reach for the merman’s face to urge him to stop, worried that he might break the skin, draw blood. The merman’s eyes are half-lidded, his gaze through the dark lashes full of unadulterated  _need_.  
  
Before Pippo can do anything more – add another finger, prepare him properly – the merman reaches for his wrist again, pulling his hand away, and takes a hold of his erection instead, positioning it against the hidden entrance.  
  
“You sure?” Pippo asks softly, but the merman gives him no further chance to worry, rocking his hips forward, taking Pippo’s cock inside him in a languid movement – only the tip at first, the entrance giving out against the intrusion, and then the rest of his length sinks in like on its own.  
  
“My God,” Pippo gasps at the sensation: the heat, the tightness, the delicious clenching along the whole of his cock. The squeaky, almost animalistic moans of the merman are filling his ears as the creature clings to his neck, wriggling against Pippo’s body, like trying to get as close as possible.  
  
It feels like the merman’s body is pulling him in, his insides constricting around his erection, and Pippo realizes with a start that he does not need to move: his merman is doing all the work for him, his beautiful eyes fluttering closed in pleasure and his tail twitching against Pippo’s legs.  
  
The merman lets out another sharp high-pitched whine when Pippo slips his hand between their bodies, grasping the abandoned erection, because he is getting close and he wants to make sure he is not the only one reaching his orgasm like this.  
  
Just as Pippo can feel the first shivers of release running through his body, the merman trashes violently against him and plucks them underwater, twisting his tail around Pippo’s legs and twirling around uncontrollably, the tightness around Pippo’s cock getting close to unbearable.  
  
Pippo comes inside the merman’s clenching body just like that, fighting to hold his breath, clinging to the merman’s shoulders for dear life, his eyes pressed tightly shut to keep the salt water out.  
  
He is going to die, he is going to die, he is going to die, he is going to die – but  _fuck_  it feels good, his seed shooting inside the incredible tightness of the merman’s body.  
  
Then the moment is over, and the merman pulls them up to the surface, caressing Pippo’s hair apologetically as the human takes in deep breaths, the aching in his lungs easing slowly. He pulls out of the merman carefully, the earlier clenching all but gone now.  
  
The merman swims back to the platform, helping Pippo to climb on the rocks and sit down, the world still spinning around him. Pippo thinks he finally understands why the old sailors kept fantasizing about the mermaids even when they knew the dangers associated with them.  
  
Fuck that was good. Easily worth another almost-drowning experience.  
  
  
  
 _Neither Riccardo nor the human notice two shapes lurking at the entrance of the tunnel, hiding in the shadows, spying on them.  
  
“You gotta be kidding me,” Mario whispers, stunned from what they just witnessed, “How can he let that animal touch him? It’s disgusting!”  
  
“Be quiet, they might hear us,” Stephan hisses back, tugging on his friend’s arm frantically, “Let’s go. You heard what Cesare said: we need to go tell him if we see anything.”  
  
“But you saw that, right?” Mario keeps pestering him even as he swims after Stephan, sparing one last distressed glance towards the cave where the human is probably still violating their older cousin, “You saw what that thing did to Ricky. That’s  **bad**. Ricky’s in such trouble when the elders find out.”  
  
Stephan can recognize the thinly veiled glee in Mario’s voice, and he is not surprised in the least: Mario lives for disorder and chaos, and what a better way to cause it than put someone else in trouble, especially when that someone is the chief’s personal favourite.  
  
“It’s none of our business,” he tries to argue weakly, although the mere thought of the sight they just witnessed makes him shiver in repulsion. What was Riccardo thinking?  
  
“Of course it is,” Mario deadpans, darting into a smaller tunnel, taking a shortcut out of the cave complex. It has been while since someone else got punished for their actions, and he is more than ready to witness whatever sanction Riccardo will receive, “Come along now. It’s our duty as upstanding citizens to report this to the chief as soon as possible.”_  
  
  
  
“What should I call you, anyways?” Pippo asks absent-mindedly as he threads his fingers through the dark hair – wiry and thick on closer inspection, nothing like human hair – looking down at the merman who has his head rested in his lap, his lower body in the water and arms wound around Pippo’s legs to keep him from moving away from him.  
  
The merman does not respond, merely hums against his knee, his lips brushing against the fabric of the wetsuit that Pippo has finally pulled on again – his swimming trunks have mysteriously disappeared, though.  
  
“Just ‘merman’ is a bit impersonal, don’t you think?” Pippo continues with a wistful smile, his mind berating him again for getting too involved with the creature, “How about  _Blu_? I know it’s boring, but it fits quite well, no?”  
  
The hold on his legs tightens, and the merman says something in that bubbly, melodic language of his, lifting his eyes from his lap to look up into Pippo’s eyes with an affectionate smile.  
  
“So Blu it is,” Pippo decides with a laugh, opening the mineral water bottle and taking a long sip. He wonders if he can persuade Blu into getting him more drinks soon – his stomach is growling too, but the fresh water should still be a priority if he intends to live more than a couple of days in here.  
  
Blu’s head snaps up suddenly, just before the water surface breaks and another merman appears, much to Pippo’s astonishment. This one looks a bit older, his black hair short and eyes dark, sharp, even angry. His skin is the same shade of white, though, looking almost bluish in the shadows of the cave.  
  
Blu pushes himself away from Pippo, a long stream of high-pitched sounds directed at the new arrival. The merman responds in kind, squeaky and quick, and Pippo thinks he can recognize distress in his features.  
  
Blu glances at Pippo – there is obvious fear in his eyes, no doubt about that – and then he says something curtly, before they both dive through the passageway and disappear into the tunnel, leaving Pippo alone again.  
  
  
  
 _”What do you mean, ‘they know’?” Riccardo asks again as he follows Giampaolo through the tunnel until they come to an empty cave – the same one he found Pup in just a day ago – “You mean they’ve found our hideout? But how?”  
  
“That too,” Giampaolo’s voice is clipped, colder than Riccardo has even heard him before, “But also that you let him touch you. Let him  **fuck**  you. Do you have any idea how deep trouble you’re in, Ricky?”  
  
Fear clenches Riccardo’s insides – shit shit shit shit they know they are going to come here and kill Pup and maybe even kill Riccardo and he can do nothing about it – but he forces himself to laugh, so obviously fake he knows Giampaolo will never buy it.  
  
“You’re kidding, right? I’d never let a human do such a thing. That’s disgusting!”  
  
Pup is not disgusting! What is disgusting is the way they are taught to believe all the horror stories about humans before they are old enough to know any better. The way they all grow up detesting the creatures that deep down are the same as them, just a different species.  
  
Giampaolo looks at him sceptically, one eyebrow raised, and Riccardo knows he can see right through him, “You need to tell that to Cesare. He’s furious, almost threw Mario into the wall when he heard about it. And you need to up your lying when you’re facing him.”  
  
“Why are you even here,” Riccardo asks quietly, his voice trembling, the disgust in Giampaolo’s eyes something he would have never expected to be directed at himself, “Why are you here if you find me that repulsive?”  
  
“Because I love you, you idiot!” Giampaolo snaps at him, his eyes furious but also sad, miserable, “And you deserved to know, no matter what you’ve done. You deserve a chance to make things right.”  
  
Riccardo is stunned, his wide eyes stuck on Giampaolo’s, and he has no idea what he is supposed to say.  
  
Giampaolo sighs deeply, closing his eyes momentarily before continuing in a constricted voice, “I might not understand what you’re doing, but I do know you. I know you don’t wanna hurt anyone. You’re just doing what feels right for you. And I could never hate you for that, not when it’s the thing I love about you the most.”  
  
He meets Riccardo’s eyes reluctantly, like it pains him to keep talking, “I saw how you looked at him in there; I know you’re gonna be heartbroken if they kill him. It should be your choice, not theirs. So I’m giving you that choice.”  
  
Riccardo has no words, nothing, but he understands what Giampaolo is telling him to do.  
  
He darts to his friend’s side, wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him, long and desperate, before turning around and heading back to the cave, swimming faster than ever before.  
  
He knows what he needs to do, and he needs to do it fast._  
  
  
  
Pippo startles a little when Blu reappears, emerging through the surface with a loud splash, some of the water flying far enough to hit Pippo’s face.  
  
The merman’s eyes are wide, frantic, terrified, and Pippo is on his feet and in the water before he can think of what he is doing. He wades through the water until he reaches the merman, grabbing his face in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eyes, their faces only inches apart.  
  
“What is it?” he asks, hoping now more than ever that he could understand the creature’s language, “What did he want? What’s happening?”  
  
Blu is looking at him miserably, his own hands rising to Pippo’s face, webbed fingers caressing his cheeks gently, and then he says something, just a low hum this time, subdued and uncertain. The sadness in his eyes breaks Pippo’s heart, and he has absolutely no idea why.  
  
Then the merman presses his hand over Pippo’s mouth and nose, his other arm wrapping around his waist tightly, and Pippo realizes in the last possible moment what the gesture means, taking a deep breath just seconds before Blu pulls him underwater.  
  
They are swimming through the tunnels, too quickly for Pippo’s mind to realize where they are going – a turn to left, then another, then maybe right, no, that was a left too…  
  
It feels like ages. Pippo’s lungs are burning with the lack of oxygen, his mind blurring, and he can feel the unconsciousness taking a hold of him. This time he really is drowning, this time the merman has really decided to take care of him, to get rid of him for good.  
  
The last thing he remembers is the sad ice blue gaze and the salty lips pressed against his, the sea water rushing down his throat as the kiss deepens.  
  
Then there is only darkness.  
  
  
  
 _”So you’re telling me you made us chase after you all this time only to find out you’d already killed him on your own?” the commander of Cesare’s guards, Gigi, groans in exasperation, looking down at Riccardo with disbelieving eyes.  
  
“—Yes?” Riccardo answers, smiling innocently at the guard that used to babysit him and Giampaolo when they were younger, before his promotion, “I thought I could handle him, to have him as a pet, but I was careless, and he attacked me. Look, here, he even managed to bruise me.”  
  
He points insistently at his chest, at the large bruise that he had managed to make worse by hitting it with a rough edge of a rock just before Cesare’s men came looking for him in his hideout, “I had no choice. I had to protect myself, just like you taught me when I was a kid.”  
  
Gigi still looks suspicious, but he does not get a chance to say anything more before Cesare appears, swimming over to them, his frighteningly calm gaze fixed on Riccardo.  
  
“Thank you Gigi, you can go now,” he tells the commander, giving him a tight-lipped smile before turning back to Riccardo, “I need to have a word with my little delinquent, here.”  
  
Gigi gives Riccardo one last look before patting his shoulder sympathetically and swimming away, leaving him to Cesare’s mercy.  
  
“Do you happen to know what young Mario told me earlier today?” Cesare asks silkily, holding Riccardo’s gaze resolutely, “About you and that— pet of yours?”  
  
“Pup was a terrible pet,” Riccardo insists quickly, settling on a childish pout, disregarding the actual question on purpose, “Boring as fuck, after a while. Aggressive too, and he didn’t even show me any gratitude when I brought him the best fish I could find.”  
  
“You didn’t answer my question,” Cesare reprimands him, his solemn gaze not wavering in the least, “Do you know what Mario told me?”  
  
“How would I know?” Riccardo forces out a laugh, messing his own hair nervously even as he tries to appear mildly curious, “That boy’s got a wild imagination, a new story for every day of the week, I’d have to be a mind reader to keep up with him.”  
  
“So you didn’t let that human touch you?” Cesare asks, obviously too tired to beat around the bush anymore, “It’s a serious accusation. You’re saying Mario would come up with something like that just to spite you.”  
  
Riccardo shrugs, fluttering his eyelashes as innocently as he can muster, “You really think I’d be into something like that? Please, Cesare, you know how much I love Giampi. Why would I do something like that with that ugly little thing?”  
  
“I don’t know, you tell me,” Cesare counters, pinching the bridge of his nose like fighting a headache, “I don’t even know what to believe with you anymore, Riccardo. My gut feeling tells me you’re the only one who could actually do something like that and yet—”  
  
“I didn’t do anything,” Riccardo assures him again, swimming to the chief’s side and wrapping both his arms around Cesare’s bicep, leaning his head on his shoulder, “It’s just Mario making up stuff again, I promise.”  
  
Cesare looks down at the young merman, and finally his face softens and he sighs in defeat, “I suppose Mario and Stephan might’ve jumped into conclusions. It’s just your and Giampaolo’s word against theirs, after all.”  
  
Riccardo can tell the chief does not actually believe him. He is merely giving him the benefit of a doubt because he has never been able to deny Riccardo of anything. Sometimes it really pays off being the favourite, even if he had to endure endless teasing from the other kids back when he was younger.  
  
“You’re forbidden to go up to the surface for the time being, though,” Cesare tells him testily, turning to swim away with Riccardo still clinging on his arm, ignoring the displeased whine that the young merman lets out in response, “And you’ll have to face the council. In any case, you broke the law. It’s up to them to decide how severely you’ll be punished for it.”  
  
“But it was just a bit of fun,” Riccardo grumbles, pouting again, making his lower lip quiver just a little, “And it wasn’t even that interesting, really. Maybe I should try catching a shark next?”  
  
“One more pet, Riccardo, and I swear I’m putting you on a leash and keeping an eye on you personally until you learn to behave,” Cesare warns him, but now there is the familiar gentleness in his voice. He even pets Riccardo’s hair as they swim through the dark waters.  
  
One down.  
  
Now Riccardo only needs to bribe Mario and Stephan into keeping their mouths shut. And convince the council to let him off easy, but that should be easy enough – Mario faces the council twice a week, after all.  
  
How hard can it be, really?_  
  
  
  
 **Epilogue**  
  
  
“I still can’t believe you gave up your job just to come live here,” Simone tells Pippo as they stroll down the beach, Tommaso hanging off his uncle’s back, half-asleep as the sun sinks into the horizon, “Especially after almost dying out there. It’s like you don’t have any sense self-preservation whatsoever.”  
  
Pippo laughs off his brother’s comment, too familiar with the complaints by now – he hears the same things from their mother over the phone every other day, and Simone never wastes a chance to bring it up when they meet up.  
  
“I’m just doing what I love the most,” he assures his brother for the umpteenth time, adjusting his hold on his nephew, careful not to wake him up, “The sea gave me another chance, so I need to do my best to return the favour.”  
  
“It was the sea that almost took you away from us,” Simone reminds him with a long-suffering sigh, but then he gives Pippo a resigned smile, “Can’t blame us for worrying it might try to do it again.”  
  
Pippo does not answer, looking over at the horizon wistfully, the setting sun colouring everything in reds and yellows. For a second he imagines he is seeing a silhouette of someone in the water, but the image is gone as soon as he tries to focus his gaze.  
  
It has been over a year since he woke up in the hospital, and his family is still not over his disappearance. Pippo doubts they ever will be: he cannot even imagine a situation where he would have to mourn for Simone for days only to find out he is not dead after all.  
  
He had panicked back when he first regained consciousness, asking for Blu, thinking he was still held captive. Then he had found himself in the arms of his sobbing mother, his father and Simone standing over them with relief shining from their faces.  
  
Pippo had tried to explain what happened, he really did, but in the end he had realized his story sounded insane even to his own ears. A merman? Really? He must have dreamed it all, the trauma of almost drowning and just barely surviving in that small underwater cave where the divers finally found him messing with his head.  
  
He never gave up the search, though, because even if no one believed him – even if he himself had hard time believing it – he still could not shake away the memory of the merman,  _his_  merman, who captured him, kept him as a pet, made him realize how little he really knew about the underwater world, and finally saved his life, took him back to his own world.  
  
The memory is getting more blurred with each passing day, with each attempt to locate the cave he was kept, with each time he returns to the cave complex where he first met Blu.  
  
“I better take Tommaso inside: it’s almost his bedtime already,” Simone finally says, picking up his son from Pippo’s back, lifting him against his chest gently, the small head lulling against his shoulder, “Don’t stay out for too long. It’s getting cold out here, and you’ve got work tomorrow.”  
  
Work, the sea life conservation program he joined because it was the only thing he could think of – to stay close to the sea, close to his merman who might not even be real. Because it was the only way to protect those beautiful depths and all the mysteries they have hidden inside them.  
  
“Don’t worry, I just need a moment,” he assures Simone with a soft laugh, waving him off easily.  
  
He rolls his trousers up to his knees and steps into the water only when his brother is safely out of sight, the water feeling cold against his bare skin in the cool autumn night.  
  
“I know you’re out there,” he says softly into the waves, his eyes fixed on the last rays of sunlight peeking from the horizon before they are stifled too, leaving him in the vast darkness, “And I’m going to find you, just wait and see. I’m going to find you, Blu.”  
  
It does not matter even if he never sees his merman again, because at least now he knows he is not chasing after a mere fairytale – he is looking for a real, living and breathing thing. Someone who is the same as him, and yet so very different in every possible way: mysterious, dangerous, unpredictable, just like the sea.  
  
Pippo is still in love with the sea, and now he knows there is a possibility that the sea might actually love him back, even just a little bit.  
  
He thinks he can hear a bubbly melodic laughter coming from the waves when he finally turns around and walks to the shore, heading back to the warmth of his seaside hut, back to the world he is running away from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- That’s it folks, the story that was never meant to be! Hope you enjoyed it, or at least found something worth thinking about. I know it’s been one of the most interesting stories for me to write in a long long time, and I enjoyed it immensely.  
> \- Tommaso is much younger in the epilogue that he should be. All my fault for not checking his age before writing this, and for being too lazy to do anything about it afterwards. But it’s not like this story is exactly realistic in the first place, so we can let it slip, right?  
> \- If there is anything you wish to know about the merfolk or about the story in general, don’t hesitate to ask me. I have a whole head canon for this universe, full of grotesque details and useless tidbits of information that didn’t make it to the actual story. ~~I also happen to know a lot more about the sexual behaviour of dolphins if, you know, that’s what tickles your fancy.~~


End file.
